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“I don’t know for sure if this will work,” she said, holding up the bottle of spray meant for sore throats.
“Girls in high school used to use that to suppress their gag reflexes to give head,” I said, getting a laugh out of Ama.
“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding. “Which was part of the reason I brought it in. If it helps that, it might help your throat. Just so you can eat and talk normally while you heal. But try not to use it excessively.”
I gave it a try, making a face at the taste, but slowly but surely, a welcome numbness started to spread.
“All good news,” Ama told a worried Cato who popped up out of his seat as soon as we walked out.
“I’m not pregnant!” I announced, getting a chuckle from Ama but a wide-eyed look from Cato.
“Was there… was there some concern about that?” he asked.
“Don’t worry. I pop my Pill with my morning coffee every day. No little Catos anytime soon,” I said, watching his eyes warm as I realized what the hell I’d just said.
Anytime soon?
God.
What was wrong with me?
“Ama gave me blowjob spray,” I blurted out, trying to change the topic quickly.
“Blowjob spray,” he repeated, lips twitching.
“To numb my throat,” I explained.
“Right. Right,” he said, shaking his head, looking a little flustered. Considering how much fucking we’d done, and how filthy his mouth was, it was kind of endearing to see him look uncomfortable about the topic of head.
Everyone said their goodbyes, and we climbed back into my car that we’d taken so it wasn’t so rough on my sore stomach with all the bumps and potholes.
“I wasn’t raped,” I told him as we drove in silence. Cato’s gaze cut to me. “I know you were worried about that.”
“For the record, I was worried for you.”
“Why would you need to clarify that?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Knew this asshole years back who had a girlfriend who was jumped and raped on her way home from work. He told her that he felt like she cheated on him. Fucking broke that girls heart to pieces saying that shit. Just wanted to make sure it was clear I wasn’t like him.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that of you,” I said, my own heart aching for that poor girl. And any other woman who dealt with some shithead partner like that after going through the worst thing they’d ever experienced.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Cato asked as he parked my car in my spot, and we started to walk toward my apartment, my oversized sunglasses doing little to hide my bruising, and people were looking at me with sympathy, and Cato with suspicion.
He didn’t seem to give a shit, though, as he led me into the elevator and then up to my door.
“Yeah,” I said, sucking in a deep breath. “But I need ice cream to do it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rynn
“Let’s see what he brought,” Cato said, opening Eddie’s insulated bags on the counter and listing their contents.
“Cheesy scrambled eggs,” he started, and I was already doing “gimmie” fingers at him. You couldn’t get easier to swallow than soft scrambled eggs. And I needed the protein and the fat from the cheese. “Okay. And… mashed potatoes with homemade gravy,” he said. “Then there is some… some sort of soup with those little star pasta. Baked mac & cheese. This is some sort of… cheesy rice, I think,” he said as he went to another container.
“How long has he been up cooking?” I asked, feeling a little guilty that he’d spent so much of his time on me.
“Dunno. But he loves doing this, so stop looking all worried,” Cato said.
